Loose
by The-KLF
Summary: Two-shot, based on the club scene in 3x14: "The music, the noise, the heat, the sweat. His body is already in sensory overload before she even leans in."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This one-shot is inspired by a gif on tumblr (foip dot me slash 114h9Xk) and the song that plays in this scene is 'Loose' by Spank Rock. I don't intend to write it from the other side, but will consider it if you try to persuade me. Enjoy :)

* * *

The beat is thumping, pulsing through his chest and trying to compete with his heart to pump his blood around his body. They've been in the club barely three minutes and he's already regretting the velvet jacket, a sheen of perspiration prickling on his cheeks. All around them, couples are grinding against each other in what qualifies as dancing these days but she's all he can see. Or would see, if he opened his eyes.

But he doesn't. The music, the noise, the heat, the sweat. His body is already in sensory overload before she even leans in. So he closes his eyes as she lightly grazes his chest with her hands, his heart beating hard just under the pressure points of her fingertips. Her forehead tickles his ear when she speaks loudly enough to be heard over the music, but her breath is there too, sending electric shocks to his toes from the intimacy.

She's doing it on purpose. She's always been a teasing, evil woman. But wow, she is definitely all woman tonight, ridiculously high heels and tiny dress, shimmering eyes, and hair that looks like he's already tousled his hands through it when they were kissing in the Ferrari. He wishes they'd kissed in the Ferrari. If they'd been kissing in the Ferrari they would never have made it into the club.

He's not even sure what she says in his ear. Something about 'us' and 'drinks', but he hears 'us' and his concentration is gone. Her voice is barely there, sultry like a summer's night in the Deep South, comforting like the first rain that clears the air in autumn, fresh like the dew in spring, and sending shivers down his neck like fresh snow falling on the pine trees in the Rockies. Her hair is glancing over his cheek and he has to keep his hands in fists to stop himself from reaching up to touch it, feel its softness on his fingertips.

He's enchanted by her, entranced by her very presence, her entire being, mind, body, and soul. And right now, in this loud, hot, sweaty club, he doesn't care who sees his adoration, his heart on his sleeve, because the only person he can see is her. His eyes flicker open and see the lights making her earrings twinkle like stars but he has to shut his eyes again. He doesn't trust himself to keep from leaning down and capturing her neck with his lips if he sees any more of it.

Then she's stepping away, leaving his bubble of personal space with a flick of her hair and a final stroke of her fingertips down his stomach. His body follows hers, canting to her side, catching a last breath of her scent, cherries, and car leather, and skin, and his eyebrow flicks up to betray his increasingly wicked train of thought. He can only hope she doesn't look over shoulder and catch him standing like a statue dedicated to worshipping her. Just her. Only her. Always her. His whole body thrums with her name, _Kate_, _Kate_, _Kate_.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I said there might be a version from the other side. Turns out I could be persuaded.

* * *

The beat is thumping, pounding between her ears and adding to the tension of being undercover. She has to concentrate, get the job done so she can go home to her bath and a good book. One of his books. One that's about her and him, or rather, their alter egos, who don't have walls, and unspoken rules, and never-to-be acknowledged desires. Besides, she just wants the bath, and the book, and the peace and quiet. Clearly not the writer she's buzzing from the nearness of. It's not like they don't spend the majority of the working day in close proximity.

But being undercover has more of a thrill to it than him watching her doing paperwork in the bullpen. That's all it is. A thrill, adrenalin brought on by the inevitable arrest she's about to make. She's definitely not enjoying being able to touch him without fear of becoming the current titbit of gossip at the water cooler. But she can't keep telling herself that when, actually, she's enjoying it quite a lot. His chest is solid beneath her deft hands, and through the thin barrier of his shirt she can feel her pulse playing a syncopated rhythm with his heartbeat between her fingertips and his overheating skin.

She moves towards him, keeping her hands on him as she leans in on her favourite pair of strappy heels. She's aiming for speaking in her normal voice into his ear so he can hear her over the music but the feel of his breath on her neck through her hair is her undoing, and her words come out in a deeper, more husky tone.

"Get us some drinks while I look for the suspect."

The accidental graze of his earlobe with her forehead makes her gasp almost imperceptibly, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, but she forces herself to turn away, away from his body, and away from the stubble on his chiselled jaw that she's been wanting to reach up and scrape her nails over for the last few seconds. She turns away so she can't be tempted to feel her lips on his, can't be distracted by even the possibility of such a distraction.

So she turns, being careful not to chance a glance towards the eyes she's always inextricably drawn to, and keeps her fingers in contact with his chest long enough to let her hand wander down to graze his stomach as she goes. She feels his body move with hers, trying to stay close, always in sync, and for a split second she thinks she'll reach for his hand and pull him onto the dance floor with her just so she can keep on making excuses to touch him, dance with him, show him what she has promised herself she can never tell him, because they're undercover and dammit she wants to bend the rules with him tonight.

But she doesn't. Later, she promises herself that she'll reach for page 105, but right now, there's the music, the over-crowded club, the dance floor, and Rick Castle crowding in, hanging on her every move. As always.


End file.
